by L. Page Hamilton
“Come ghoul,” Peter barked at me as he stormed past my alcove in his house. “I feed tonight.”
No shit, why else would you call your personal waste disposal system to go out with you? To have a drink at the local bar? Go see a movie? Oh, no. I’m going to eat the dead body you create so the neighbors won’t realize that a vampire is in their midst. I shove myself up and walk out behind him into the night.
My name is Jessica, dickhead. Maybe if I put on a dress and heels he would act differently towards me. When I’m in a good mood I can convince myself that he’s taking me to dinner. It’s just too bad he doesn’t let me pick when or where we’re going. But really what do I expect? This is the sort of man I attract. Although, I did change it up with that last guy who wasn’t just rude, but killed me as well, and now here I am a ghoul. Who knows how the ghoul part came about–probably nothing more interesting than the opposite of a birth defect, instead a death defect. Naturally, my life would end on a defective note.
He’s gone in his usual insensitive boorish way when I get outside. He couldn’t wait and hold the door for me. I thought vampires were supposed to be romantic. Then again, if he had waited for me I would have to get right up close to him and his stench would have knocked me out. It makes me wonder if they all stink this bad or just this one? Did he have horrible BO when he was alive too and this is a leftover from that life?
I track his odoriferousness towards the night club district. At least we’re going for the younger crowd. Our last meal was an older guy and although I hate to complain about a free meal, he was tough and used cheap tobacco. On a happy note, leech didn’t enjoy it either, hence our trip to the fashionable end of town.
I hang out in one of the late night bookstores while he selects our meal. In a couple of hours I’ll go skulk in the alley to wait because even with hip clothing and shoes I would never blend into this crowd. Hopefully, it will be someone with some meat on his bones.
So it’s not a bad deal over all. He kills them and I eat them, but my eating them is somehow a lower order than his killing them. Just drinking their blood may seem more refined in his world, but to me it’s just a waste of good food. I suppose I could kill them too but that smacks of cheating and that’s wrong. Besides, fresh dead bodies aren’t as tasty as ones that have steeped in the ground for a few weeks. Get someone under sixty years old who hasn’t donated their significant organs, an embalmer with a light touch, and you’ve pretty much got a gourmet meal.
Crap, this girl that came out with him has almost no meat on her bones. This must be pay back for the other night when I came back from the cemetery. He hates when I ‘slum’ in the cemetery as he puts it. Well hell, his once a month meal is a fucking starvation diet. My ‘slumming’ wouldn’t be a problem if he would just let me stay in the cemetery and come get me for our dinner dates. But no, he needs me to be near him so he can head out whenever the mood strikes him. Oh, and it doesn’t hurt that I can keep the house and yard maintained. He’s a selfish dick when I think about it.
“Bone cruncher! I’m done.” Peter hisses at me from the back of the alley. I roll my eyes. I want this one to cool a little bit. Not like it’ll take me long to finish off this bag of bones. He’s pissed, you can just see it in his eyes and his foot tapping as I saunter over. Glad I got your goat tonight Peter old boy because you’re a douche.
Then just as I reach her and open up to take a bite what does the asshole do? He cuffs me behind the head like a dog and before I can even think I whirl around and rip his arm off with my teeth. We stand there staring at each other for a second both in shock of what happened. Then he gets this look of rage and me a look of delirious orgasm. His flesh is delicious! It’s tender and full of subtleties I had forgotten about since being alive. It’s like the most succulent piece of lamb simmered in its own juices and flavored with oregano and rosemary to make you cry. With a roar I leap on him, and rip off his head to disable him then go back to his arm and slowly devour it in front of his eyes. I chew him like my mother always told me to eat my food; in slow luxurious bites, like her pork roast when we could have it. I fantasize about the next mouthful while chewing each mouth watering bite. I want to save something for later, but can’t help myself and eat all of him including his head which I save for last. His voiceless mouth tried to plead with me as I sank my teeth into his skull that cracked like the skin of a ripe apple. His brain, a thick rich camembert filled my mouth and his eyes sweet champagne grapes. When I’ve finished him, I wipe my mouth on his jacket and toss his last meal into the dumpster and head out.
Nothing I eat now will ever compare to vampire. Who knew anything that smelled so bad could taste so good. I’m on a mission now to find another one. Maybe I can breed them in captivity for my own culinary pleasure.
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L. Page Hamilton
Laura lives in Colorado with her husband, and Keeshond and enjoys BLT’s, coleus plants, and playing with clay.